Robin Schone by Gabriel's Woman (10 ebook reader TXT) 📕

velvet bow on Victoria’s left shoulder; long,

tapered fingers lightly grasped the double-action Colt revolver. It was cocked to fire a single bullet.

The violet gaze slipped past Gabriel.

“Michael.” The second man’s smile widened. “How nice of you to join us.”

Michael’s and Victoria’s shock was palpable.

In looking at the second man, Michael gazed at himself as he had been before scarred by fire; in looking

at Michael, Victoria realized that the man who held her was not the man named for his ability to please

women.

Gabriel was neither surprised nor shocked at the man’s visage. There should be satisfaction in

confronting him again: there was not.

“Close the door, s’il vous plait” the second man invited, pleased with the reaction of his audience. “We

do not want Mademoiselle Childers to catch her death.”

Amusement at his cleverness sparkled inside the violet eyes.

It would not be cold air that would kill Victoria. If Michael ran for help, the second man warned, he

would kill the woman who had touched Gabriel. Now.

With a knife. Or a single bullet.

And there would be nothing that Gabriel could do to stop it.

The soft snick of a closing door bolted down Gabriel’s spine.

“I believe introductions are in order.” The second man spoke with charming courtesy; he had spoken

with the same beguiling courtesy when Gabriel had been chained, unable to fight either himself or the man

who looked like Michael but who had none of Michael’s humanity. “Gabriel, no doubt you recognize

Delaney; he bears a marked resemblance to his sister, does he not? Mademoiselle Childers, may I present

to you Michel des Anges, the man named for his ability to please women. Michael, allow me to introduce

you to Mademoiselle Childers, the woman who sold her virginity to Gabriel. Delaney, no doubt you’ve heard

of Gabriel and Michel, les deux anges; they really are quite beautiful, aren’t they? Although Michael is

unfortunately scarred now.”

The book-lined study shrank to a narrow attic room, gold-embossed leather to dull gray chains.

Deianey’s gaze nervously darted from man to man, woman to man, a pearl-handled pistol clenched inside

his right fist. His hair was black and greasy with macassar oil; his narrow mustache curled in a perpetual

smile. Unlike the second man, he hadn’t expected two angels.

Behind him, Gabriel could feel Michael’s circling thoughts. He knew the exact moment when Michael

realized the second man’s identity.

“You have guessed who my father is, mon cousin,” the second man said with unfeigned delight.

“William Sturges Bourne,” Michael said flatly.

The Earl of Granville.

Gabriel had killed him six months earlier.

“Your uncle,” the second man agreed smugly.

Michael’s uncle had been the first man; the son of his uncle— Michael’s cousin—was the second man.

The uncle had destroyed Michael’s life, then he had sent his son to destroy Gabriel’s life. All because of

the innocent love two thirteen-year-old boys had borne one another.

Violet eyes clashed with violet eyes.

“I do not claim William Sturges Bourne as a relative,” Michael said contemptuously.

A log collapsed in the fireplace; sparks shot up the chimney.

The smile did not fade from the face that was a slightly younger, unscarred rendition of Michael’s. “And

yet you have inherited his title, the Earl of Granville.”

A title Michael had not claimed.

Gabriel’s fingers tightened about the silver knob of his cane.

Violet eyes suddenly pinned Gabriel. “Drop the cane, Gabriel, or I will carve your initials into

Mademoiselle Childers’s cheek. A ‘g’ for garçon. A ‘c’ for con. An ‘f’ for fumier.”

Boy. Bastard. Piece of shit.

Victoria’s gaze sought Gabriel’s.

Thoughts flowed between them: the pounding of water, the slap of driving flesh. The echo of Gabriel’s

confession.

The knowledge that the second man had heard their every discussion and witnessed their every intimacy.

Her cries of pain, her cries of pleasure.

The needs of a male whore.

He had demanded that she share the light of her pleasure, and he had brought her to this.

A dark line of blood welled on Victoria’s cheek, a small warning nick of the Bowie knife.

Victoria held perfectly still, unable to escape the consequences of touching an angel.

The second man would give no other warning.

Gabriel had promised he would give up his life in order to keep her alive. And he would.

He dropped the cane.

“Very good, mon ange.” The second man smiled, white teeth flashing. “Now kick it across the room

toward me.”

Gabriel kicked the cane toward the black-marble-topped desk; it collided with a small red and white tin

stamped with ALTOIDS, struck a satinwood leg.

It dawned on Gabriel that the gritty substance underneath the sole of his boot and the white nodules

scattered over the maroon carpeting were mints.

Anger pricked the hair on the back of his neck.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt her, Yves,” Delaney burst out; glaring light glinted off his greasy hair. “You

said you would kill Gabriel, and then we would take her. You didn’t tell me there would be another man.

This is not what we planned.”

Yves.

It could be the second man’s name. Or it could be an assumed name.

It didn’t matter.

After fourteen years, eight months, three weeks and one day Gabriel could associate a name other than

Michael to his face.

“Delaney, you must learn to be more considerate, old chap,” Yves